


In Wolf Skin

by Miya_Morana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bodyswap, M/M, Mirrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“If I’m getting this right, this situation is only temporary. You’ll just have to wait it out.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“How long?” Peter asks, glancing at Stiles then back at Lydia.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“It doesn’t say,” she shrugs. “But the closest you are to each other, the fastest it’ll be.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Peter and Stiles are trapped in each other's body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Wolf Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [entanglednow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/gifts).



> This was written for entangled_now's birthday, happy belated birthday honey! <3  
> A big thanks to Akadougal for the beta.  
> Also, counting it as my fill for the bodyswap square on my [Trope Bingo card](http://miya-morana.livejournal.com/168700.html).

“No,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at the teenager in front of him. “No no no! You give it back right now!”

His voice doesn’t sound like his own, it’s too deep even through his panic and anger, too smooth, too scary. He refuses to watch his reflection in the darkened window again, once was traumatic enough.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Lydia hisses through her teeth as she flips the pages of the old darach’s spellbook. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to make _sure_ no one entered the circle during the casting, not stumble into it yourself!”

“Stumble into-“ Stiles chokes. “I was _pushed_ in it by a stupid werewolf leaping through a window!”

The bitch face Peter gives him is even more irritating when displayed on Stiles’s own features. Stiles feels the echo of a growl build in his throat (technically, in Peter _freaking_ Hale’s throat) as a violent energy curses through him, tensing up his muscles. In front of him, Peter narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“This book is so disorganized, how am I supposed to find anything in there?” Lydia complains as she keeps frantically turning pages.

“I don’t know, but I think you better hurry up,” says Peter in a falsely calm voice. Stiles can tell, it’s his voice after all.

His vision tunnels, zooming in on Peter, on his slightly too fast heartbeat, on the vein pulsing on his throat, his long, thin throat, so fragile, never mind that it’s actually Stiles’s.

“Shut up, Peter! This is entirely your fault!” Lydia snaps without raising her head.

“Maybe,” Peter says in this same irritating, almost calm voice. “But right now you should perhaps worry more about the fact that Stiles is currently a werewolf and has no idea how to restrain himself.”

Lydia’s head snaps back up. “Stiles, get a grip,” she says firmly. “Concentrate on something grounding, or I swear I’ll find a spell to turn you in a rat and keep you in a cage. If I’m in a good mood I might buy you a little wheel.” 

Stiles glares at here, but he can feel the muscles in his back starting to shift and move, the teeth in his mouth elongating and sharpening. They’re right, he’s losing control, and the way he’s looking at the pale skin of Lydia’s throat is less his usual “she’s so hot” and more of a “I could rip her apart with my bare teeth”.

It should scare him. He knows it should. Instead, he feels _powerful_. Stiles looks at his new claws, flexing his fingers. He stretches his back and his neck, trying to gauge his new strength. He could overpower Peter in a heartbeat, sink his teeth in his throat and be rid of him at long last. Although he’d probably end up stuck in Peter’s body forever, and his dad would think he’d died, so maybe that’s not such a good idea after all.

His eyes are back on Peter’s (his) throat, and he can hear the blood pumping through his veins, the heart beating in his chest. His own heart. _This is who you really are_ , he thinks. _Focus on that, on this very human, weak heart._

Coming down from the rush of energy that had brought on his partial transformation feels terribly disappointing. Still, even in human form he knows he’s currently the strongest of the tree of them right now.

“Good boy,” Lydia says, and Stiles is about to snap back at her when she goes “Aha!” and starts reading her current page more intently.

Peter walks closer and peers over her shoulder as the creeper he is. Stiles comes closer too, but the book is in Gaelic and Stiles’s nerdiness has its limits.

“So?” he asks.

“It’s a little bit obscure,” Lydia says, following the lines with her index, “because darachs apparently care more about rhyme than about clarity. But if I’m getting this right, this situation is only temporary. You’ll just have to wait it out.”

“How long?” Peter asks, glancing at Stiles then back at Lydia.

“It doesn’t say,” she shrugs. “But the closest you are to each other, the fastest it’ll be.” She closes the book with a ‘snap’ and stuffs it into her ridiculously large purse. “Now thanks to you I’ll have to start this spell again tomorrow, once I’ve resupplied in sage and deadnettle.”

“You really shouldn’t play with magic,” Peter tells her gloomily, and Stiles didn’t know he could look so scary. He’ll have to practice that look in the mirror once he gets his body back.

“Says the man who used magic to come back from the dead and then interrupted a spell and messed things up,” Lydia snorts haughtily. She’s come a long way from being scared out of her wits of Peter.

Peter grinds Stiles’s teeth, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he digs the key to the jeep out of his pockets and tosses it to Lydia. She catches it and squints at him suspiciously.

“Hey!” Stiles complains. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Giving our lovely Lydia here the means to drive herself home,” Peter says with a smirk that doesn’t look half-bad on Stiles face (another thing he’ll have to practice). “You and I are spending the night at my place, since I doubt I’d be much welcome at your house. Plus, I don’t think you want to explain the situation to your dear father.”

“I…” Stiles grinds his teeth. He doesn’t want to spend the night with Peter, for so many reasons, but the man is right. It’s the most practical solution, especially if they want to thing to wear off as fast as possible. “Fine,” he finally grits out.

***

Peter’s apartment is actually not so far from the abandoned warehouse where Lydia had set up shop for her spell work. It’s nothing like the dark, shady place Stiles had vaguely imagined either. There are huge windows on one side, overlooking a park so there’s no one looking back inside through them, which means the place is probably very bright in the daytime.

The walls of the living room are painted a very light blue and the furniture is sparse but clearly luxurious. That couch looks like the most comfortable thing in the world, but Stiles is just standing there in the middle of the room, uneasy, not sure what to do with himself. 

This place feels like home, and it’s disconcerting. It’s because he’s in Peter’s body, he reminds himself. This is his place, and Stiles’s borrowed werewolf instinct probably recognizes its den. When he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, he can smell Peter’s scent all around him, both familiar and foreign to him. It’s so disconcerting.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Peter tells him, dropping his keys on a unit next to the entrance door. “Don’t touch anything.”

Peter disappears behind a door and Stiles childishly sticks his tongue out at the wooden panel. Then promptly lounges all over the couch, which is indeed very comfortable.

He can hear the rustle of clothes being taken off, then the sound of a shower turning on. Freaky werewolf hearing, it leaves no room for privacy. Trying very hard not to think about the fact that Peter is currently touching his naked body, Stiles gets back up on his feet and walks up to the bookshelf, perusing the titles. 

Peter turns out to be one of these people who arrange their books by size and colors rather than by any logical, practical system, and Stiles’s fingers are itching to put some order in there.

“He could at least separate fiction from non-fiction,” Stiles grumbles, and it’s still surprising him to here Peter’s voice instead of his own.

When he turns away from the irritating bookshelf, he catches a glimpse of himself in one the large windows, which, at this time of the night, act almost as mirrors. He’d caught glimpses of Peter’s body before, tonight, in windows mostly, but didn’t really get a chance to _look_. After all, Peter in _his_ body doesn’t quite look like Stiles, so Stiles probably doesn’t quite look like Peter either.

He takes a few steps to get closer to the window. The way he walks doesn’t have the predatory, stalking allure of Peter’s, for starters. It’s more casual, or more human, maybe, even though Stiles inherited Peter’s werewolf nature as well as his body.

Stiles cocks his head from left to right, squints his eyes, then rolls them the way Peter often does. He tries to look disapproving and judgmental, then decides to have a little bit of fun and pull off expressions he’s never seen on the werewolf’s face. He grins, and it lights up Peter’s face. It’s nothing like his usual smirk, and I makes him look, well, very handsome, which isn’t a word Stiles would have ever associated to Peter Hale, ever. Attractive or seductive, yes, but handsome?

Which reminds Stiles that he _is_ wearing the body of a very attractive and very, very fit man. He runs a hand on his torso, feels the hard muscles of his pecks, trails down to the nicely defined abs, feeling himself up through his shirt. Stiles can hear the shower is still running, so he has a little bit of time ahead. He grabs the edge of the shirt and pulls it up to take a good look at the abs.

_Oh yeah._

Stiles drags his hand back up the uncovered skin, and it feels so good, if really strange to touch and be touched this way. Because it’s Peter’s body, Peter’s abs and pecs under his hand, Peter’s nipples… Oh, okay, apparently the werewolf is more sensitive than Stiles there. He brushes the left one again, shivering a little bit, and quickly realizes that it was a very bad idea when he notices he’s starting to get aroused. Because he can feel Peter’s dick growing harder, and oh god, _he can feel Peter’s dick_.

Stiles tries to breathe and think of something else, anything else but the fact that it would be so easy to finally get his hand on someone else’s genitals. He would only have to slip his hand inside his jeans… No, he can’t, not now, because Peter will come back and he’ll know, Stiles is sure of that. Although, really, Peter has been taking a shower and putting his hands all over Stiles’s body, so it would only be fair, right?

Damn, the idea of Peter’s hands on Stiles’s body are making him hard, and yup, that’s a full-blown erection there, no way Peter won’t notice it, and how long ago did the sound of the shower stop exactly? Stiles turns around just in time to see Peter walk out what must be the bedroom door, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms that are clearly too large on Stiles’s body and hang too low on his hips. Well, that and the strong, unmistakable smell of arousal, which was already heavy in Stiles’s nose and is now almost intoxicating.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “What did you do?” he asks, accusingly.

Peter raises an eyebrow and smirks. “I didn’t do anything,” he says. “It’s not my fault if your body is so sensitive. What did _you_ do?” he asks, looking straight at Stiles’s crotch.

“I…” Stiles starts, but he can’t seem to find any words.

“Is being in my body so arousing to you?” Peter teases.

Stiles can feel his cheek heating, and he wonder briefly how that looks on Peter’s face, but then Peter’s eyes widen slightly in surprise (Stiles’s is suddenly proud that his features are naturally very expressive, so the reaction is easy to spot). The scent of arousal becomes stronger, and it’s going straight to Stiles’s head, slightly blurring the edges of his vision.

“It _is_ ,” Peter breathes out, quite and surprised. 

Then he smiles, a sweet, untrustworthy smile as he takes a few lascivious step forward, and Stiles had no idea his own body could move this way, be that suggestive, without looking even a little bit awkward.

Stiles swallows with difficulty, closing his fists at his side as he tries to clamp down on his sudden desire to jump his own bones. 

“That’s…probably very narcissist of me to find this situation so damn hot, isn’t it?” he says when Peter is only a few inches away from him. 

He’d never noticed until now, as Peter smiles down at him, that the werewolf was actually smaller than him. Not by much, a bare inch if that, but still, taller.

“Not at all,” Peter replies. “After all, you are a very attractive young man, and the situation, well… I would lie if I said I didn’t find it _interesting_ myself.” 

He raises both eyebrows, proving once and for all that Stiles is physically incapable of the single eyebrow raise. Stiles takes a quick look down to where Peter’s pajamas are now clearly tenting up. He knows exactly what it would look like if Peter took off these pants, knows the length and girth of it by heart, the look of it too, with its curved up shape and its little mole on the left side, near the head. The sight shouldn’t make him feel greedy with want.

But it does. Oh yes, it really does. Stiles looks back to Peter’s grin on Stiles’s face and groans, grabs Peter’s neck as he steps forward and kisses that smirk right off. Peter’s mouth opens readily and his tongue slips between Stiles’s lips as his hands grab Stiles’s belt buckles and drags him forward to press their crotches together. Stiles’s hand on Peter’s neck tightens as their erections rub together through their clothes, and he bites on Peter’s lower lip.

Peter whines, a small, almost submissive sound that goes straight to Stiles’s dick, and before he knows it he’s pushing Peter back against the bookshelf and kissing his neck, nipping it as he rubs himself slowly but steadily against Peter’s hard cock.

“Are you always so pushy, or is it just the werewolf instincts taking hold of you?” Peter taunts, but his voice is slightly breathless.

He has a hand curled up in the back of Stiles’s shirt as the other one slides down the back of Stiles’s jeans, fingernails digging into the skin of his ass, and Stiles bucks up harder, his teeth almost breaking the skin as he bites Peter’s neck.

“Don’t know, don’t really care right now,” Stiles replies, licking at where the skin is clearly going to bruise.

He drags his fingernails down Peter’s chest, taking care to lightly scrape the spot on his hips that never fails to make him shudder when he does it to himself. And right on cue, Peter shudders, his hand tightening in Stiles’s shirt. Then Stiles slips his fingers in the pajama bottom and pulls it down. It catches on Peter’s erection, pulling his dick slightly down before it springs free from the fabric and bounces right back up, a little obscenely. The pajama pants pools down around Peter’s ankles.

“Did you touch it, under the shower?” Stiles asks against Peter’s neck.

“A little,” Peter admits. “Not much.”

Stiles takes a small step back, presses his forehead against Peter’s. He’s staring into his own eyes, and he can’t not see the way his pupils are too wide, can’t not hear how short his breath is or hoe fast his heart is beating. He doesn’t know if he’s more turned on by the idea of how debauched he looks, or by the fact that it’s Peter, that he’s making _Peter_ look like this. The whole situation is a mess, a hot, wild, sexy, delicious mess.

“Now that’s a little bit unfair,” Peter says, grinning.

Stiles tries to keep himself from grinning too much as Peter helps him remove his shirt, then takes a deep breath when his hands move to his fly. Peter palms him through his jeans, making Stiles gasp, then makes sure they are both equally naked.

Stiles looks down. His new dick (well, technically Peter’s dick) is not quite as thick as his own, but definitely longer. It stands straight and flushed against his stomach, the head already glistening with pre-come, and Stiles reaches down, wraps his hand around it.

It feels… Well, it feels almost the same as touching himself, just slightly different. He glances back towards Peter, who is staring at him with hungry eyes, and he presses the padding of his thumb on his slit, spreads the pre-come a little bit more over the head, then makes sure to catch Peter’s eyes with his as he raises his thumb up to his mouth.

Peter catches his wrist just as he’s about to reach his lips. Stiles has to make a conscious effort to still his arm, because Peter’s hold doesn’t have enough strength to actually stop him, and not for the first time since they switched bodies Stiles is acutely aware of how weak and vulnerable he usually is next to werewolves. Even though right now, he’s the one with the power.

He lets Peter bring his hand to his own mouth, watches him wrap his lips around his thumb and suck. Fuck, does he always look like that when he has something in his mouth?

Stiles drags his thumb over Peter’s lower lip, dragging it down, and Peter smirks.

“This mouth of yours _can_ be put to good use after all.”

“Hey!” Stiles protests, only half offended. “My mouth got us out of a lot of bad situations, okay? My mouth is great!”

“Mmmh,” Peter hums in agreement as he pushes against Stiles’s shoulders.

Stiles lets him maneuver them towards the couch, where he drops down. Peter falls to his knees, between Stiles’s parted legs, and Stiles has to remind himself to breathe, because yes, this is actually happening. Granted, he hadn’t imagined getting his first blowjob from _himself_ , but he doesn’t really care.

 _This is Peter, on his knees in front of me, oh fuck!_ he thinks, and if he could get any harder he would. He bends down and kisses him again, faintly tasting himself on Peter’s lips, or rather faintly tasting Peter. Peter bites his lower lip a little bit too hard, but the pain is gone in an instant, leaving only a light tingling.

“Look,” Peter whispers against his mouth, then turns his head slightly. 

Stiles follows his gaze, and right there on his left there’s one of the large, darkened windows, acting almost like a mirror. What he sees in it is himself kneeling between Peter’s legs, dragging his fingernails over his thighs, bending down and nipping inside Peter’s thighs…

And Peter, disheveled and wide-eyed, mouth open, gorgeous body naked and half-sprawled on the couch, dick hard and long, so hot. Stiles closes his eyes when Peter wraps a hand around his dick and his lips brush his balls teasingly. Then Peter is licking the underside of his cock, moving all the way up to the head before taking him in his hot, damp mouth.

Then it’s all heat and suction and friction, delicious as Peter’s lips move up and down, his tongue twirling, while he fondles his balls just the right way. Stiles has to look again, has to grab the back of Peter’s neck, not to set the rhythm but actually to steady himself. He looks at the window again and moans at the view. His eyes catch Peter’s in the reflection.

Then Peter’s mouth slides down on him more slowly than usual, and Stiles watches himself in the reflection swallowing Peter’s dick _all the way down_ as he feels the head of his cock hit the back of Peter’s throat, then slide further down as Peter swallows around him to take him as deep as possible, and fuck, Stiles is glad he isn’t in the body of a 17-year-old right now, because he’s pretty sure he would have come then and there.

“Peter!” he groans, tightening his grip on Peter’s neck. 

Peter alternates between sucking and breathing through his nose, and it’s driving Stiles mad, to the point that he start thrusting his hips up, but he’s already all the way inside Peter’s mouth so it doesn’t provide any more friction. So Stiles moves his hand from Peter’s neck to his hair, tightens his fingers in it, so glad he decided to grow them out last summer, and drags Peter’s head slightly up so that he can thrust up in it.

Peter’s hands tighten on his thighs, fingernails digging hard in the skin as Stiles thrusts up into his warm, slick mouth and Peter just _takes_. When he looks back at the window, Stiles can see himself held in place by Peter’s strong hand, while Peter fucks his mouth, hard and fast. 

Peter’s fangs and claws are out, Stiles isn’t sure when it happened, hadn’t felt it until he sees it, and it looks hot and dangerous, but _he_ ’s Peter now, _he_ ’s the one who’s strong and dangerous and in control, and it feels good, it feels amazing, that and Peter’s mouth ( _his_ mouth), and the way Peter is clawing at his legs and making strangled little noises as Stiles pushes up deep and fast into his mouth, the way Peter’s hips ( _Stiles’s_ hips in the reflection) move, like Peter is trying to hump the air, his cock still proudly erected.

Stiles can feel his orgasm building up, and it takes all of his willpower to drag Peter’s head up. His cock slips out of Peter’s mouth with a noisy, obscene _pop_ , and Peter looks up at him with lust-blown eyes, saliva trailing all over his chin. He drags him up to crush their mouths together in a messy, bity kiss as Peter climbs over his lap, slipping a knee on each side of Stiles’s hips

Peter wraps a hand around both their cocks, pressing them together, jerking them together, fast and messily, and this is actually the first time since they started that Peter has been touched, and Stiles recognizes the noises his making in their kiss, knows it means Peter is already close to coming, and Stiles throws his head back in a moan.

Peter takes advantage of it and sinks his teeth in the skin where his neck and shoulder meet, thrusting faster in his fist. Stiles’s grip on Peter’s hips tightens, and Peter shouts as he tenses up, curves back and comes with a long, shivering moan. Stiles thrusts up into Peter’s hand a few more times, then follow him with an almost animalistic groan.

Peter almost collapses against his chest, and Stiles wraps his arms around him, buries his nose in Peter’s neck, breathes in the scent of sweat and sex. They’re both a sticky mess, and he kind of loves that, but it seems Peter doesn’t share that feeling.

“Shower,” he groans against Stiles’s shoulder.

“Didn’t you already take one?” Stiles teases him, but Peter is already climbing off his lap.

He stands next to Stiles, looking down at him expectantly.

“Oh!” Stiles says when he realizes he’s supposed to come with. “Shower. Sure.”

He grins, and Peter smirks, leading the way through the bedroom to the bathroom. Stiles notices in passing the full length mirror, and he wonders if he could fuck Peter against it, if Peter would let him. He’s starting to develop a huge mirror kink, he realizes, and he doesn’t even care.

When it happens, Stiles is pressed against the wet tilled wall of the shower, slightly bent over. One second Peter is pressed against his back, one hand wrapped around his cock, two fingers of the other curling inside his ass, the water pouring over them both. The next, it’s Stiles pressing himself against Peter’s wide, muscular shoulders, his hands stilling on and in Peter.

The werewolf turns his head, raising an eyebrow at him over his shoulder. After a second of hesitation, Stiles grins and slips a third finger inside Peter. Peter smirks back, then spreads his legs a little bit further.

Maybe he’ll ask Peter to fuck him hard against the mirror, he thinks. Later. Right now, he’s the one in charge again, even without Peter’s werewolf strength. And he _likes it_.


End file.
